November 30, 2008

A pretty picture, isn't it? Man and woman over open flame, aglow with the knowledge that they will soon be eating the world's most perfect food: bacon.

Many strive to do their best by these luscious strips of swine, but it took Smith Street's Clover Club and its new brunch menu to finally do it justice -- with a Bacon Tasting that could make a holier-than-thou vegan convert with glee...

Crisp Duck Bacon is followed by zesty Pepper Bacon, succeeded in turn by thick, sweet slabs of Maple Bacon. Served atop toasts dabbed with bacon grease, it is the ultimate, hedonistic, artery-clogging meal.

Order up one of Clover Club's first-rate cocktails to wash it all down and simply claim that the "devil made me do it."

Would a jaunt through this Asian immigrant neighborhood be as magical as my wanderings through the real thing? It was a beautiful day. Why not download the tour onto my iPod, jump on the F train and find out?

From visiting the grand Judaic hold-out known as the Eldridge Street Synagogue, to glancing at the dank offices where new immigrants from China line up for menial day jobs, I followed the tour across busy thoroughfares, down crooked side-streets and through underground mini-malls. There was a brief pit stop at the 88 year-old Nom Wah Tea Parlor on Doyers for one of their famous, crumbly Almond Cookies, costing a mere 60 cents. But, the real highlight was a pit stop of a different kind, one filled with incense and golden Buddhas.

My visit to the Mahayana Buddhist Temple wasn't quite as stirring as my call on Man Mo on Hong Kong's Hollywood Road. Still, I was mighty intrigued seeing worshipers not only bring oranges, pineapples, bread and sweets as sacrifices to their ancestors, but bottles of vegetable oil as well.

No explanation on the audio tape was found.

Fascinating all the same.

Don't know if I'll end up downloading any more Soundwalk New York City tours. But I do know that I'll never look at vegetable oil quite the same way again.

November 28, 2008

The two bottles of wine were a forgone conclusion. Still, I needed to bring more to the table than Australian Sauvignon Blanc and Argentine Malbec. So, with all the customary sides already claimed by others, I decided to whip up a few pre-dinner hor d'oeurves for good measure.

Happily, my Marinated Mushrooms with Fresh Thyme were gobbled up at a steady clip. But, it was my Tomato and Fresh Ricotta Bruschetta (pictured above) that seemed to vanish all too quickly. Not as quickly as the platter of Deviled Eggs, mind you, but they did come in a close second...

Toss tomatoes with 1 TBSP olive oil, minced garlic, sea salt and freshly cracked pepper. Place in a pan and bake for 45 minutes at 350 degrees in a pre-heated oven. If the tomatoes haven't blistered, put on broil for an additional 5 minutes and then remove from the oven. Mash tomatoes slightly to remove a bit of the liquid.

Slice the baguette on a diagonal for 15 pieces about 1/2 inch thick. Place a 1/4 cup olive oil in a cup or bowl and use a pastry brush to lightly coat both sides of the slices and place on a cookie sheet. Brown both sides in the oven, about 3 - 4 minutes each side on broil. Remove and place on a rack to cool slightly.

Once cool enough to handle, spread each toast with fresh ricotta and then pile some of the warm tomatoes on top. Sprinkle chopped fresh basil over each of the bruschetta. Serve.

November 27, 2008

The meal included all the traditional trimmings, with a few creative twists along the way -- including a Turducken Terrine (pictured above alongside the classic Roast Turkey). In addition, there was homemade Turkey Gravy, Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Pickled Radishes, buttery Mashed Potatoes (or should I say "potato-ey Mashed Butter?"), and enough Apple-Cranberry Stuffing to feed a small army.

Even so, it wasn't the time-honored dishes that made me swoon.

It was the eggs.

First up, the Southern standard, Deviled Eggs, as prepared by Arkansas born and bred Elisabeth.

A rich, decadent nibble with cocktails before the T-day feast, this platter of Deviled Eggs disappeared in minutes.

That said, it was John's egg-inspired dessert that made me truly thankful...

These little orange-hued indulgences are most certainly the Thanksgiving dessert of the gods. The hollowed-out, colored eggshells were filled with luxurious Maple Pot de Creme and topped off with Pumpkin Foam, a drizzle of real Vermont Maple Syrup and a sprinkling of Maldon Salt.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

Once you've plunged your spoon into one of these creamy delights, you can't help but think that Pumpkin Pie is for amateurs.

Now the big question is: What came first - the turkey or the egg?

If John and Elisabeth's exceptional Thanksgiving spread is any indication, my bet is on the egg.

November 23, 2008

People have been known to spend small fortunes to recreate the quintessential French cafe. Nevertheless, it seems that the French are turning their backs on the real thing -- traditional cafe-bars, where once glasses of vin and Ricard, plates of croissants and escargot, cups of strong coffee and packs of cigarettes were de rigueur.

De rigueur no more. In fact, according to The New York Times, cafe-life in France is suddenly finis:

In 1960, France had 200,000 cafes, said Bernard Quartier, president of the National Federation of Cafes, Brasseries and Discotheques. Now it has fewer than 41,500, with an average of two closing every day...

...“The bar of a cafe is the parliament of the people,” as Honoré de Balzac wrote, but it is being less frequently visited these days, especially by the young.

Not only are the French spending less, and drinking less, cutting down on the intensity and quality of the debates, but on Jan. 1 of this year, after much huffing and puffing, France extended its smoking ban to bars, cafes and restaurants.

Marco Mayeux, 42, the bartender of Le Relais, a Paris cafe in the 18th Arrondissement, said the ban alone had cut his coffee and bar business by 20 percent.

“A place like mine doesn’t appeal to everyone; it’s very working-stiff,” he said. “There is a coffee-at-the-counter feel that isn’t attractive anymore.”

Before, clients would go inside a cafe, have a coffee, a cigarette and another coffee. But now they go out to smoke, and sometimes they do not come back, many cafe owners said...

...In Paris, Mr. Picolet, of Aux Amis du Beaujolais, said simply: “The bar-cafes? They’re finished. Twenty years ago, people would go in the morning before work for a coffee and a cigarette. And now, it’s over. Young people don’t drink during the day, and when they drink, they drink to get wasted. Smoking is forbidden and they eat en route, with coffee in a paper cup. They smoke and drink at home.”

The idea that the last impression we'll have of idyllic Paris cafes will be at Epcot or Vegas -- is horrifying. C'est une situation bien déplorable.

November 22, 2008

My nasty Gristedes burnt down a few months ago. I didn't see it as much of a loss. The market was a grubby dump that had a few canned and bottled staples that I'd deign to purchase from time to time. It was really a deplorable grocery store. Heck, its longstanding nickname in the 'hood was "Gross-stedes."

But now, like a phoenix, the Brooklyn Heights Gristedes has risen from the ashes, reborn with a major scrubbing, smart renovation and official grand opening. Taking the place of the once scorned, smelly pit of substandard provisions is a brand-spanking new supermarket with streamlined aisles and glistening cases, where I'd gladly shop -- and already have.

How could I possibly resist the allure of "new supermarket smell," a seductive mixture of Windex and freshly ripped cardboard boxes from the likes of Procter & Gamble, Stouffer's and The Jolly Green Giant? What a heady perfume!

It might not be a Whole Foods, but damn if this isn't a major improvement. We're talking about a produce section that doesn't look like a long-forgotten dark alley of despair, cheeses and deli fare aplenty and even a section devoted to British comestibles (pictured above). I have no idea if I'll ever have a yen for Branston Pickle or Salad Cream, but it's nice to know it's easily obtained, if ever the situation calls.

I never in a million years thought I would say this, but...YAY GRISTEDES!

November 21, 2008

You knew after my last posting that it wouldn't be long before my longing for smoke would be satisified. It took less than a week for me to give into my craving, hitting Chelsea's RUB - Righteous Urban BBQ - earlier tonight with a similarly 'cue smitten pal.

We were both hoping that a half slab of the restaurant's slow-smoked, tender Pork Spareribs and slices of premium Hereford BBQ Beef Brisket would satiate.

Not so much. They were okay. They just didn't take us back to Texas or anything.

But, even so, we were impressed by RUB -- Not by the food, but by our waitress.

Her name was Teri and, blonde ponytail bobbing back n' forth, she sashayed around the floor with a get-it-done attitude, a bright smile and just enough sass to keep the tips rolling in. Truthfully, she was a marvel of fine service. In the blink of an eye, she offered up info about RUB's Vegas outpost to one table, took beer orders and turned the TV to the Michigan-Duke game for another, knowingly recommended the choice of coleslaw over greens to an indecisive twosome, and then, using her mind-reading super-powers, brought me a fresh glass of Iced Tea just as I was thinking about ordering one.

A word to RUB: She's a keeper. I strongly recommend you give her the busiest shifts -- and let her train others -- before Danny Meyer or another hospitality-focused restauranteur snaps her up.

November 17, 2008

...and was expertly hacked to pieces in the process. It was all in the name of education. Dozens of curious epicureans packed into a demonstration kitchen at the Institute of Culinary Education for Slow Food's "Nose to Tail Eating" pig butchering demo and tasting. This meat-apalooza event featured Master Butcher Rudi Weid breaking down half a carcass of an heirloom pig, while cooking up the other half for our dining pleasure.

From head to hock, Weid skillfully wielded knives, a cleaver and a horror film-worthy hacksaw, in ardent support of the lost art of butchery.

I was duly impressed. So was the gent seated to my right. Then again, this gent was used to cooking up whole pigs on regular basis. The proud owner of not one, not two, not three, but four serious smokers, he waxed on about his down-home Carolina Pulled Pork and Slow Smoked Baby Back Ribs. Needless to say, I was jealous.

Thankfully, there was beer to distract me. Rogue Ales offered up samples of four of their finest brews, followed by a glossy, dark square of Vosges Haut Chocolat's Mo's Bacon Bar.

But I was in luck. No sooner had I washed down the bacon-flecked chocolate with some Dry-Hopped Saint Rogue Red Ale, when the swine arrived from the kitchen -- Boston Butt, Picnic Shoulder, Belly, Loin, Fresh Ham, Crackling and the glorious Head (pictured above) -- half a pig's worth in all.

November 16, 2008

I've always been a fan of Russ & Daughter's, the Lower East Side mecca for smoked fish devotees. For Jewesses like moi, the place is irresistible. And, it appears their new blog is irresistible too. The name is undeniably brilliant: Lox Populi.

November 15, 2008

I'd been having a darn good time in Beijing. Still, the party didn't really get started until I put myself in the hands of professionals.

Get your minds out of the gutter!

I wasn't hiring out some Beijing boy toys!

Instead, I was paying for the privilege of having some gourmet guides show me around town -- guides from Hias Gourmet, an upscale boutique firm specializing in tourist and corporate culinary events and travel.

Goodness knows, I do love a good boutique, and Hias Gourmet was a winner all the way around.

First up, was a "Tea Safari" gastro-walking tour which introduced me to Jenny Yap, one of Hias' top gourmand guides. She lead me through Maliandao Street in the Xuanwu District, where I was able to visit a mind-boggling, multi-floor tea mall and spend time at an intimate, exclusive shop across the street sampling Pu'er and other fine teas under the direction of a young, but knowledgeable master of the leaf.

Jenny and I took to each other at once. And since I was the lone tourist on this particular gastro-walk, she indulged my lust for culinary exploration, following up our tea adventure with a trip to Beijing's trendy Houhai Lake area for dinner at a Hakkan gypsy restaurant. There, we ate Salt-Baked Shrimp, among other dishes, and talked world politics through the night.

Over debate about McCain and Obama -- and a few Tsingtaos to wash it all down -- Jenny promised that the next evening would be delightful as well. Luckily, I signed up for another Hias experience -- a foodie walking tour of the city's up-all-night Ghost Street with Hias Gourmet founder Adlyn Adam Teoh.

Even so, worry-wart that I am, I hedged my epicurean bets with an early evening trip to the Dong Hua Men Night Market, near my hotel. The market's red lanterns went on for blocks -- and so did the scent of rancid frying oil.

Ick!

And yet, I could understand the draw of the market's numerous stalls, chock-a-block with Chicken, Lamb and Beef Kabobs, Starfish for the eating, Glazed Strawberries and Lady Apples, frying Pork Dumplings, Steamed Buns Stuffed with Cumin-Dusted Lamb, Stinky Tofu, and bugs aplenty, all waiting to be downed by over-zealous tourists looking for a Zimmern-esque photo opp.

At any rate, I wasn't feeling particularly Zimmern-esque and I showed up on Ghost Street famished. Good thing too, because Adlyn knew the street all too well, and had been warned by Jenny that I was one for the real-deal experience.

Real-deal for Adelyn meant one thing: Spicy Duck Necks.

Cooked with pepper and spices and stewed in a low fire, Spicy Duck Necks had become a favorite guilty pleasure among Beijingers. No surprise, one bite of the peppery, tender flesh and I was hooked. I was gnawing my way through my third when Adlyn insisted we move down the street.

"Ghost Street," also called Guijie Street, she explained, is a major dining destination for Beijingers, sporting over 100 restaurant choices and hours that can stretch well past 4am. One of the most popular dining choices on the strip is Hot Pot, and Adlyn promised a genuine Hot Pot repast.

Yay! And if dipping thin slices of mutton and shrimp into a selection of earthy Mushroom, Chili Spice and mild Vegetable Broths wasn't enough of a good time, Adlyn also ordered up a platter of searingly hot and spicy Crawfish...

...which required plastic gloves in order to crack open their bright red shells to get to the sweet, chili-infused flesh.

We continued to meander and chatter until the early hours, at which point Adlyn insisted that I spend the next night -- my last night in Beijing -- in her company as well. She wanted to take me to her favorite foot massage spot in the city, followed by swank drinks and nibbles. She refused any argument.

I loved Adlyn.

Indeed, the next night she took me to an underground spa for the most blissful reflexology session of life. (If you want the name, you'll have to email me directly and prove that you deserve a similarly orgasmic, life-altering experience.)

We followed up our divine foot rubbing outing with a trip to another body part -- Face -- a luxurious Oriental dining oasis where the well-heeled enjoy top-notch cocktails and pan-Asian fare.

After our hour-and-a-half foot rubs, we certainly qualified as "well-heeled."

And, after a few cocktails and some goodies from the kitchen, I most certainly felt qualified for a few zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz's.

Adlyn ushered me into a taxi. I waved farewell, promising to stay in touch -- and hoping she'd let me return the favor by allowing me to show her the town in New York.